


The Three Times Dean Winchester Tried To Kill Himself and The One Time Castiel Was There To Stop It

by cloudtunnel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudtunnel/pseuds/cloudtunnel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has been through a lot and it doesn't help that even demons and angels tell him more about himself than he would like to admit. Eventually all the self-loathing adds up and up, but Cas would never let anything hurt Dean- not even himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time - My Brother

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first ever fic written and I posted it on a different site, but I wanted to check this one out. Reviews and ratings would be awesome (: Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Update! : February 8, 2013
> 
> I edited a few mistakes I had going on in the chapters. I had no idea that 'Rich Text' meant I could italicise and such. Hope it makes more sense now :D

The first time the thought of suicide had crossed his mind happened way before Castiel even knew who Dean Winchester really was. Of course, being an angel he knew the name, knew his job, knew that one day he would have to rescue him from the pit. But, this was years before Castiel had even been asked to gather angels to save him. No, the first time Dean thought of suicide was when Sam had decided to leave for college.  
  
 _“If you walk out that door don’t ever come back!” John yelled at his son who had been thinking that he was doing the right thing. Saving people, hunting things; it wasn’t what Sam had wanted to do. Now, Dean watched as his father yelled at his son for doing what normal parents wanted from their children._  The moment the door was slammed the thought had crossed his mind- how was he supposed to go on without his snot nosed baby brother? He looked at his father who was red faced and heading straight for the liquor cabinet and knew things had just gotten even more complicated in their already damned-to-Hell lives. Dean had only seen his father cry once or twice and that was when the weight of Mom really being gone still rested on his shoulders. Back when he believed he was the one who had somehow ended up calling the Yellow-Eyed Demon to Sam’s nursery. It was back when Sammy had first started asking questions that Dean couldn’t quite answer. This time as a tear rolled down John’s face Dean knew that it wasn’t from anything near what he was feeling all those years ago- he was crying because his son, who Dean didn’t know was the centre of it all, was going off on his own; choosing schooling over blood. Dean didn’t understand his brother’s decision, but he knew that now he would have to look after Dad the same way he had to look after Sammy.  
  
“It’ll be okay, Dad,” a weak, cracked, broken voice spoke up. Initially Dean hadn’t known it was his own voice. It sounded foreign, like that of a small child’s. He couldn’t keep Sam as part of the family and he couldn’t assure John that things really would be okay due to the fact that Dean wasn’t feeling so hot at the moment himself. Green eyes dashed down to meet the floor of their ‘house’. They were always moving, always squatting at some abandoned house. Tonight wasn’t any different. The house was breaking and the scent of mould blended in with every other unpleasant scent that Dean could name. Being a hunter, he knew a lot of scents that would make your nose fall off. _“Too bad Voldemort hadn’t lost his nose this way,”_  Dean had said when they had first arrived. Now Dean was wondering if the ensemble of scents would be the last scent he would ever have the pleasure of smelling. Sam didn’t need him anymore and he had proved that by getting out on his own to go to college. Dad was a drunkard, but he was also a damn good hunter, and he didn’t need Dean. He had carried his own and that of his son’s when the brothers were too young to handle a gun. Where did Dean fit into all of this? A good son would have never let his brother leave. A good son would have never almost gotten his brother killed on countless occasions. A good son would never... For Dean the list went on and on.  
  
By the time John had passed out (Vodka bottle still in hand) Dean had retreated to his segment of the building. The area he had been sleeping in for the past week on their job was one that he was sharing with Sam. The dingy house had at one point in time been a two bedroom and John had been happy to finally have his own room rather than a leather couch that probably invented herpes. Dean had picked the twin bed on the right side of the room, the one near the window. _“Why do you always get to pick what bed we get?” Sam asked and his eyebrows knit together in a way Dean had grown to recognise as his ‘I’m not a baby anymore’ look. “Because, Sammy,” Dean had replied and smirked, “I’m the oldest.”_  Dean looked around at the broken glass littering the old wooden floors. It almost looked like a vampire nest, but maybe he was just thinking of the one he had run into as a kid. With a short huff Dean dropped to his knees his worn jeans bending easily with the curve of his legs. Thank God his sleeves were rolled up because as Dean reached down to grab his duffel bag he felt muck, “Ah- dammit!” he cursed under his breath pulling out his now almost black coloured arm. He shook his head and reached again this time grabbing the old bag and pulling it out with a quick yank.  
  
The bag was his dad’s and probably had been in the family even before that. It was made out of cloth, but it was heavy and sturdy, and it could hold a small arsenal. Basically, Dean loved it almost as much as he loved the Impala that was destined to be his. Dean had sat down cross legged and admired the bag for just a little while. The memories that came with it were almost overwhelming. He was going to give it to his little brother, but things had changed. Carefully engraved in the side above the sewn in word ‘Winchester’ Dean had carved John, Sam, and Dean. It had belonged to all of them at one point. Now it just held guns and knives, bibles and other texts, holy water, things that applied to the job. Everything had to do with the job, the job was their life. Every so often Dean would want to call it Job with a capital J just to prove his point that it was everything that really mattered. Family came first, but the near second was hunting. Dean smoothed out his open red-and-white flannel and looked down at his grey Led Zepplin shirt. These had belonged to his father as well. Everything he had was thanks to his father, but everything that mattered was gone. It was his favourite outfit; he even wore his biker boots. It was something he would want to die in and he was ready to die in it. No note though; notes were for pussies.  
  
“Here we go,” Dean muttered to himself as if anyone could possibly be listened. He secretly hoped that someone was. He hoped that maybe Sam was just waiting outside. Waiting for Dad to cool off and for everything that was going on to just stop. Dean grabbed the worn zipper and pulled slowly revealing the true items stowed away in the bag- Dean’s life. It was almost like Dean’s Pandora’s Box. Once it was opened chaos was doomed to follow. Every time it had been opened something had been erased from existence. Tonight, since they had finished a job, maybe the odds would play out in the bag’s favour. Dean slid his fingers worn and scarred from his line of work across his weaponry. _“What kind of gun is this, Dean?” John asked looking down at his boy with a proud smile. Dean returned it- he knew this one, “It’s a Winchester, Dad; just like us!”_  Poetry and sentiment had never followed Dean around like a lost puppy, but he did know of irony and how today was a day full of it. His eyes found the gun before his fingers did, but once the gun was in his hand everything was muscle memory. Dean pulled out the clip to examine it, slid it back in, safety on, safety off, cock, ready, aim. The steel tip pressed against his own forehead was almost surreal. Sure, he had a gun pulled on him before, but this was different. This time he wanted to die. This time he felt something. Tears had found their way out of his emerald eyes that now shone just like the gem. His jaw clenched bringing teeth together in a nasty crash. All he had to do was pull the trigger.  
  
“Dean!” and with that mention of his name the gun was down, the bag was kicked under the bed, Dean was on his feet, and he had stopped crying. It was his father that called his name. He had dropped the bottle, Dean knew that as he slid out of the room and saw the glass scattered across the floor. Dean smiled weakly as to say ‘hello’. That night was the first night- the first unsuccessful night and the first night Dean realised that the world didn’t end with a single bullet. One night maybe, but tonight everyone needed him even if they didn’t want to mention it.  
  
“What’s up, Dad?” Dean asked and ran his tongue across his teeth looking around the room looking for something that he knew he would never be able to see- hope. If that bag was Pandora’s Box didn’t hope have to come out last? Maybe a sliver had slid out, but gone to someone else already. Maybe she was stuck. Either way that night wasn’t the night for Dean Winchester, but he was determined that one day would be.


	2. The Second Time - My Father

The second time Dean had thought of taking the so called ‘easy way out’ (and how stupid of a name Dean had thought. What about suicide was easy? Even forming the word in his head was painful) when John had gone missing. There was something about his father and brother being gone that hit his self-worth like a silver bullet. Sammy obviously didn’t need him and he had made that clear two years ago by leaving for Stanford. Ever since that night his servitude had shown more prominently towards his father. John had taught him everything that Dean knew and was the main reason Dean had decided to put the gun down the last time. This time was different. Now John was gone, Sammy was gone, and Dean was all alone in a bar with two of his favourite things: beer and experienced women. Things that would have normally made him open up just a sliver of a bit were turning out to do nothing to help the macabre thoughts crossing his mind every second.  
  
Who was he to not be looking for his dad and was rather staring at the wall in a bar contemplating to pick up the phone or to go back to his shabby motel room and have a long talk with his gun. “Hey, hun,” Dean turned quickly to catch the face of the valley voice that broke his train of thought. The woman was exactly Dean’s type- tall, thin, huge breasts, blonde, everything he could have asked for. She obviously wasn’t looking for anything special judging by her choice of clothing. The red fabric clung to her slim body and looked like it would burst if she shifted her chest even an inch. It was actually quite amazing to Dean that women could even walk with those things. He had been with plenty of women and had handled those things for a little while. _“Do they hurt?” Dean asked the girl seated in front of him as he slid his hand around her underdeveloped breasts. He was only in 9th grade and this girl Susie was beyond worth it. “A little,” she admitted, “normally just when I lay on them.”_ “Mind if I take a seat?” her bubblegum smile pierced through Dean, but he could only nod.  
  
“Sure,” he replied waving his hand out to the barstool placed at a too-close-for-comfort level away from him. He could only think of what the hell was wrong with him. ‘Sure’ was in no way sexy or mysterious; maybe he just didn’t want to be that way. His eyes followed down her body given it was the only thing to look at that wasn’t made of wood though she was most likely at least 10% plastic. She was dressed to provoke men; she was dressed to provoke men like Dean. Yet, even as he looked at her busty body all he felt was a pit inside screaming from the depths why he wasn’t tapping that yet. Why wasn’t he? Dean swirled his beer around watching the amber liquid make a small whirlwind at the bottom of his bottle. Suddenly his mouth turned dry and he knew he was done, “Bartender,” his gruff voice called out and he half-heartily waved his hand to the stocky man behind the bar, “I need to wrap up my tab.”  
  
A red-painted fingernail dashed out against his chest and dug in just enough to bring an odd sense of pleasure, “Where are you going?” an obvious pout crossed the harlot’s face and Dean stood pressing away from her hand. He offered a shrug as his form of apology and handed the barkeep another one of his credit cards that hadn’t been maxed out quite yet. The new cards had arrived a week before John left and the names on them were something along the lines of baseball or some other sport that had been deteriorated throughout the years since its origin. The most common ones that Dean had chosen had to deal with the unnamed band members of old rock groups such as Aerosmith, AC/DC, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Journey, Bon Jovi, and the list went on and on. Sam had been given something purely random while John had planned his names down to the last letter, “Don’t leave just yet,” the woman grabbed Dean’s jacket as he turned to leave and the sudden tug made him grit his teeth. What did she want?  
  
“Sorry, sweetheart, I have something to do tonight,” Dean flashed a grin and watched the poor lady’s face sink inwards. Dean fixed his jacket, his hands tugging it back on straight, “See you around,” he winked finding that maybe it would count as a formality. He didn’t want her to think he wasn’t interested considering if she had asked any other day he would have obliged happily and took her to the motel in less than a second. Or maybe he would just fuck her senseless in the Impala since she hadn’t seen too much action since those weeks when John would lend Dean his car if they were working separate jobs. He was 26 now and working a case with a few vamps or werewolves meant nothing to him. He had been trained to do this since he was old enough to hold a gun. He had grown accustomed to the lifestyle and, unlike Sam, couldn’t think of anything else he would ever do. This was his life even if somewhere deep inside he didn’t want it to be. Maybe he wished that Mom was still around and that he lived a normal life. The only thing was that Dean wasn’t good in school; he didn’t have a future in accounting or anything of the sort. The only thing Dean was good at was hunting. Hunting and losing everything that meant anything to him. Hell, he had almost gotten Sam killed in many different situations.  
  
 _“Don’t leave Sam alone, okay, Dean?” John’s dark eyes grew even harder as he looked in his eldest son’s eyes. He would never be able to tell Dean what was really coming for them- or had the chance of coming for them. Tonight he would kill it, John would, but if anything happened as always Dean was the man in charge. “Yes sir, Dad,” Dean nodded. He couldn’t have been more than eleven at the time, “Take care of Sammy, I know,” he smiled and John couldn’t help but smile back. “Keep the doors locked, don’t leave the room, there are pre-cooked meals in the cabinets. If Sam is hungry you cook for him.” With that John left and Dean locked the door after him. This was their routine. Nothing ever changed. Dean always protected Sammy and Dad always protected them as best as he could. The thing about tonight was that Sam had pissed Dean off. He was always asking questions that Dean would never be able to answer without permanently ruining his brother’s life. So, he had left to get a soda. By the time he came back a monster was above his sleeping baby brother seemingly sucking out his soul. Dean froze. His brother was going to die due to the fact Dean was too scared. “DUCK!” and Dean obeyed just in time to watch his father shoot the thing waking Sam. John grabbed his younger son and watched as the thing ran out of the room through the window. Since that day John had never looked at Dean the same. Sam almost died and it was his fault._  
  
Dean slid into the Impala not caring that by now the road was a bit fuzzy. He had been in that bar for a while just sitting, thinking. No one seemed to be able to give him a break, so he decided to take his own. He ran his fingers through his gelled hair making its perfect point turn into more of a spike or two. He was too drunk to care; too messed up to worry about it. He shoved the keys into the ignition and gave it a quick jerk hearing his baby come to life. His foot slammed the gas and even though he swerved the whole way home the tears didn’t start until he was in his motel room with the doors locked. He had enough sense to not let just anyone think that he was possibly emotionally challenged and going to his room to possibly do something stupid. He didn’t need a stranger to ask him if he was okay. He especially didn’t need a monster to know that a hunter was emotionally compromised. He waited till the door was locked to let the memories come back. By now he had simply given up sleep and the only time he got any form of sleep was when he let his little personal Hell take over his thoughts.  
  
 _“Dean, you are such a jackass!” Sam groaned._ “I know, Sammy,” Dean apologized even if it was a few years late. _John glared into his son’s eyes with a harshness the boy had never seen before. He had already apologized, but a simple sorry could never fix what he had done. The older man’s eyes drifted away to his other son and Dean knew that what he did would never be forgiven._ “I didn’t know what you were hunting,” Dean whispered and fell on his bed. He brought himself to the edge of the bed and his elbows dug into his thighs; his head dropped down to his hands and all he did was grit his teeth. _“I am sick of this family!” Sam yelled and even though his eyes were locked with his father’s Dean felt that like a kick in the gut. He was sick of him; he was sick of his own brother._ “I’m just tired, Sammy,” if only Dean had responded with that. If only he could go back in time and fix what he had wronged. All the people that died, all the people he put in danger. If only, if only.  
The gun was in his hands now. It was loaded with a silver bullet and even if his last set of clothes and last final words were more ideal this was what he had. He had a crappy pair of frayed jeans, a too-tight grey long sleeved he should have given away years ago, and a blue denim coloured flannel that he only wore on days when he was working a shitty case. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows and he could see his own hand shaking. This was it. This time he would finally pull the trigger. He had grabbed his gun; he had said his apologies, now he was going to leave this place. He was finally going to leave this damned world once and for all. His eyes met the ceiling and if he had never believed in God or angels maybe now he wished he had, “Forgive me,” but he was not speaking to the man above, “Sammy, I’m sorry,” his throat tightened and the world began to spin. The sounds that were passing his lips were guttural and taking every ounce of him and shaking it up. He was sorry, but sorry would never cover it. Sorry was never enough.  
  
“ **They burned down the gambling house; it died with an awful sound. Funky Claude was running in and out; pulling kids out the ground~** ” Dean turned his head to his phone now screaming at him. He dropped the gun and leaned over- tear stained eyes checked to see who the hell was calling now of all times. Would he ever be able to get what needed to be done, done?  
  
“Bobby, hey,” Dean sniffled and wiped his face quickly composing himself. Now he owed his life to two people that he never even really saw anymore. His dad was gone and now Bobby Singer, an old friend of his dad’s, was calling? Maybe this was more than chance. He eyed his gun from his peripheral and sighed.  
“Your daddy isn’t answering; where is he? Working some case where he can’t answer his damned phone?” the familiar Southern accent crossed through the phone and Dean shrugged as if the older man could see him.  
  
“I wish I knew, Bobby,” and _damn_ did he wish he knew. He wished he knew where John was. Maybe all he needed was something from him. Maybe just a punch in the face and everything would be okay. Maybe he wasn’t really broken, but he was just temporarily dealing with insanity. Maybe something got to him and now he needed some spell to get him back to normal Dean. John would know. He just wished he knew where the hell the man was. He needed to get better; if he didn’t, one day that gun would finally fire and send a bullet straight through Dean Winchester’s head. A Winchester would never die the ‘easy way out’ though there was nothing easy about what Dean was planning on doing. Nothing at all.


	3. The Third Time - What Sam Saw

Watching your brother slowly change before you is one thing, but seeing it happen all at once is a whole new ballgame. Sam had figured Dean was okay in general due to the fact that _he_ was the big brother and _he_ needed to protect Sam. Dean had been the one that fished him out from college to go find Dad, he was the one that when Dad died was there for him. In all the years they had been together since Jess Sam had expected that something was wrong with Dean. A part of him was never one-hundred percent there. Then again, it was Dean and he hadn’t seen his older brother in over two years before he showed up. They started their job up again after Dad was found; and killed. After Jess Sam was full aboard the crazy train heading straight to any dark and creepy place you could name. He wanted revenge and so did Dean. Things went seemingly smoothly in a sense. They didn’t try to kill each other even when there was a shifter in the mix. Things for them were just ‘ _okay_ ’. Of course, they were Winchesters, so nothing really was ever okay. Their mom, dad, and Jess had been killed by a yellow-eyed demon. That was far from normal.  
  
Of course, Dean dropped little hints that he was slowly losing himself. Especially after Dad had left he seemed just a little bit off to Sam. Sam didn’t feel the need to look in too far or try to press Dean, so instead he just watched him closely. He should have been more tipped off when Dean was living off of Bobby’s scotch and coffee while he tried to fix the Impala. Or maybe he should have noticed everything about him change after he was trying everything to make a deal with a crossroads demon. Maybe he should have been more careful mentioning anything- even on their first case together again when he mentioned Mom Dean seemed off. Sam always had that thing in his ear telling him to watch his brother, so that was what he did. Through all the demons, vampires, mental hunters, werewolves, ghosts; Sam kept an eye out for his older brother. He owed Dean that much. His brother had, after all, spent all of his life keeping tabs on Sam. Even when they were just babies Dean had been the one that carried Sam out of their burning house. Dean was four and had already proved himself a man. He owed his brother something for that and all he could offer were a few chick-flick moments and admitting something to himself- Dean had changed.  
  
Sam should have really noticed something about Dean when he met Gordon Walker. Not that Sam didn’t realise there was something wrong with Dean. Oh, no, Sam knew that something was going on in his brother’s grapefruit, but he had no idea that his brother was getting his kicks from killing. He was turning into a machine. That was the first time Sam could swear he got a glimpse into his brother’s broken down soul. _Gordon looked across the round table at the bar at Dean. He should have never expected Sam to be watching from the shadows. There was no way he would be able to see him. “Let’s talk about your brother,” Gordon had proposed and Dean shook his head, carefully downing the shot set before him with no more than a breathy noise and a scrunched face. “Sammy?” Dean asked and kicked himself back in the chair that looked like it could break any second. Sam knew physics and even if he never really got into woodworks he knew that those chairs were old. Sam leaned forward just a little bit more at the mention of his name. What could they want to know about him? Why couldn’t they just ask? “What do you want to know about him?” Dean inquired. Gordon let a smile spread his lips upwards enough that Sam already knew the answer, “He doesn’t seem like you. He’s weak. I heard he was a college boy for a while. You don’t want that on your team do you?” Dean’s face instantly turned to annoyed and pissed; a combination that normally ended in whoever provoked it to be knocked out within three seconds, “Good talk,” Dean kicked back his chair and stood up brushing off his clothes that were now wrecked with the scent of bar. “But really. All he does is hold you back.” “He’s what keeps me going.”_  
  
The thing that really made Sam question his brother happened all too late. Sam and Dean had been working a case in some ghetto looking place. The city was small, but its inhabitants looked like they were all something worth questioning. Originally they had both believed that they were demons, but after Dean pulled a few strings and slipped some Holy Water into their water tower only to prove they were all human they decided these people were just weird. Humans were always the weird ones. They were always the ones that needed to be watched. At least with a demon you knew what they really wanted- to kill. What the Winchesters didn’t know was that it was really about the souls- everything was. This was years before any of that, though and the boys just believed that demons were evil. All they wanted was to destroy Earth. This was one night that sent all of Sam’s sensors on overdrive.  
  
“Hey, Sam,” Dean called from across the motel room that looked even worse than the rest of the town they had ended up in. The walls were a gross green colour that looked more like puke than olives. The designs were... tribal? They just added to the over-all weirdness of the whole place. Sam was starting to think this wasn’t really their gig and the brother’s had decided that they were going to leave first thing in the morning and look around for something else. Dean was on his twin bed, legs crossed at the ankles, staring at the television that was showing some commercial about dogs in need of homes or something. Sam used to have a dog- he smiled back at the thought before closing his laptop and looking at his brother.  
  
“Time for grub?” Sam grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair he was sitting in and shrugged it on. He was expecting, once again, for Dean to say that they go to some ridiculous diner at some ridiculous hour (this time it was 11pm) and eat some food that most likely caused cancer. Sam never complained, though. He was okay with his brother’s lifestyle if that was what he wanted. Sam would usually get a salad or something lighter due to the fact he didn’t want to become a pig. Dean, on the other hand, would kill someone for pie. They were brothers, sure, but two people couldn’t be so different and yet still be related. Things just didn’t work that way. They stayed together for the sake of them being the last in their line of kin that mattered. They both had a common cause however screwed up and morphed they were in their separate heads they started with the same thought origin.  
  
Dean’s face dropped and Sam returned that with a questioning look, “Oh, no, I got it,” Dean flashed a smile. Sam furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head a bit. When did his brother ever offer to go get food? Normally he would yell at Sam until he finally gave up and climbed into the Impala with his brother who had to pick the music, pick the food, and pick everything. Sam didn’t complain. When did Sam really complain about his brother anyways? Truly, the only thing that Sam would ever complain about his brother was that Dean never knew how to get his emotions out in a way that didn’t somehow hurt something. Even him saying sorry could end up in someone getting a broken nose; it had happened before. One time, when they were kids, they got into an argument and when Sam said he was sorry Dean punched him in the face as an apology. _“Free shot, Sammy. You started this; I end it.”_  
  
Sam would have argued his reasoning, but he was drowning in the amount of research he needed to get done. Something was going on somewhere and he wanted to find it. Maybe working a real case would get his brother back in his wits. Dean was a strong guy and there was no way that something would be able to break him. Sam was the one who was normally told he had anger issues, but Dean was the one who acted on them. If Dean was angry at anyone, even himself, he would go out and ‘fix’ it. Dean would always end up with something against someone and was never happy until he had their head on a stick. Though Sam had hints that Dean was mad at himself he had never quite put all of the pieces together. That was why Sam shrugged, took off his coat, sat back down, opened up his shitty laptop and nodded, “Get me something that wouldn’t kill a normal person,” Sam nibbled at the inside of his cheek as Dean smiled and slid out the door.  
  
When Dean didn’t come home in 30 minutes Sam called his first phone. After 45 it was his other phone. After an hour he had called every one of Dean’s phones and Dad’s phones that he knew the number to. The nearest diner where Dean should have gone was only about 10 minutes away. For Dean to get his food and come back it should have taken only 30 minutes or so. That was why at the thirty minute mark Sam called to make sure Dean hadn’t gotten lost or was hitting on the waitress while he was sitting in their motel room starving. Sam was used to not eating a lot, but when Dean offered to buy food he jumped at the opportunity. When his first call was rejected Sam went with the idea that he was with the waitress. That was Dean after all. He was the male-model type with a whore-like attitude. He always said he needed more fun. Sam, on the other hand, didn’t enjoy sleeping around with every woman he met that was even moderately attractive. So, after an hour and a half Sam went with his original plan and hotwired a car in the parking lot.  
  
Trying to find your brother in a town that you don’t even know is hard. It’s even harder when you’re in a car that seems like if you go over 60 it will break on you. He wanted the most inconspicuous car in the lot. Unfortunately that car just so happened to be a stick shift from the early 90’s with carpet interior and a broken stereo. Not even music to listen to as he drove down every single street that could possibly hold his brother. “Fuck, Dean,” Sam cursed to himself and punched the steering wheel lightly, “Where the hell are you, Dean?” Sam asked as if Dean could hear him. Being a hunter his mind went straight to the worst- he was captured by something and was being tortured. If not, he was already dead and there was nothing Sam could do except go on more vengeance runs. What the hell was he supposed to do about anything without Dean? Dean was his support line. He relied way too much on his big brother, but the feelings were mutual. There were times where if Dean hadn’t been there Sam would have died. The same went with Dean.  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dean looked at his final option once more. Everyone used to say that third time was the charm, right? He had already mended everything that he needed to fix. Sam wasn’t mad at Dean for anything, Dad was dead, and Bobby was back in Sam’s life. Everything was playing out perfectly. Sam would be able to go back to Bobby and hunt with him while Dean went down or up. It wasn’t really his choice, though, was it? In lieu of doing research via computer a few years back Dean took the liberty of reading the Bible. It was mental in every sense of the word- men turning the sea to blood? A human turning a staff into a snake? Dean had read a lot of crazy crap, but what really stood out to him was that written clear as day was ‘if a man shall take his own life his soul shall be damned to a separate place in Hell for souls too weak to move on’. Dean was going downstairs tonight. He was already mentally prepared for anything that could happen mentally. Physically, he had no idea if Hell was really hot. Everything he had read about it or heard from demons could be proved differently.  
  
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean shook his head and pulled his face down to try and give himself some sense again. He had already said goodbye, what was he waiting for? The streets were desolate and his spot in an alley far away from everything else would mean nothing. The next day a cop would drive up and find a dead body and a gun. It was an alley way- what did you expect? Things were going to be okay, or so he was telling himself. He thought that if he pulled that trigger everything would be solved. Before John had died he told Dean something. He told Dean that if he couldn’t save his brother he would have to kill him. Dean would never be able to kill his own brother. Things always went from bad to worse with them and if push came to shove Dean would rather take his own life than kill Sammy. Sammy was still just a kid to Dean. Sammy was still Sammy. He could still get out or he could still hunt, but with Bobby. Things would be better if he was gone, “Goodbye, Earth,” Dean smiled a half-assed grin and squeezed his eyes shut. This was it. Three. Two-  
  
“Dean?” Dean turned and his face went white as a ghost’s. There was no way- “Dean, wh-what are you doing?” Sam’s face was morphed to that perfect puppy dog face his did. More than anything he looked hurt. Dean set his gun back into the back of his jeans and smiled as much as he could. _Oh, no, Sammy, why did you have to be here now?_ Normally Dean would be able to give a response to what he was doing. Normally he wouldn’t have been crying. This time was different and both Sam and Dean knew it. A phone call didn’t save him this time. No, this time he was face to face with his baby brother who looked like Dean had been the one that shot _him_ rather than almost shot himself.  
  
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean’s eyes glistened from the street light that hit green eyes making them glow. His cover was blown. Sam was not an idiot nor was he a child. Sam knew what he had seen and Dean knew it. He dug his boot into the gravel surrounding them and stared at the ground. He didn’t sign up for this part. He didn’t want Sam to see this part. Sam would be okay if Dean was gone, but if he saw Dean go? He would never be okay ever again. Dean doubted that Sam would be okay after this, but Sam’s reaction was even more surprising. Suddenly there were arms around him in a dangerously tight embrace, “Sammy?” Dean asked, but Sam just squeezed him tighter.  
  
“You are such an idiot,” Sam hissed and pulled back holding his brother at arm’s length, “you didn’t answer my calls,” Dean watched Sam’s jaw tighten, “Did you expect me to not come looking for you?” Dean shrugged and stepped back from Sam’s grip. He couldn’t do this- not now.  
  
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” Dean mumbled his eyes briefly catching his brother’s before Sam shook his head. Sam was smart enough to leave it at that. Sam took Dean back to the Impala and started driving. Dean watched his brother ever so often. He wasn’t gone and so Sam was still his to look after. He still needed to make sure his younger brother was even if Dean himself had almost pulled the trigger. Sam drove straight to Bobby’s and didn’t say anything to Dean. Dean was glad, too. If Sam had said anything at all Dean would most likely just explode. Sam was a smart kid. Now his people-I-owe-my-life-to list had gained a member and just made Dean want to pull the trigger there. There was no way he could, though; not for a while. Not when Sam had gotten on the trail and was sure to try and stop Dean before things got this serious ever again.  
  
Once they got to Bobby’s Sam looked at Dean and shook his head. Dean watched the shaggy hairs on his brother’s head in a moment of nostalgia, “Please don’t ever think about doing anything like that ever again. Promise me.” Dean stared into his brother’s eyes and saw all the memories, the emotions, the baggage Dean had given him. He saw everything and through it all he saw that Sam needed him. How could he tell Sam the truth?  
  
“I promise,” Dean had said. Sam could never know Dean’s plans. He had already made a commitment. One day he would shoot a bullet through his own head. He just needed to wait for the right moment. _“I am so, so sorry, Sammy,” Dean said through grit teeth. “Yeah, me, too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one was a little bit different. I figured maybe Sammy's POV would be interesting.


	4. The Fourth Time - Half of the End of Dean Winchester

In all of Dean’s life he had known what his job was, what his life was going to be, and just about everything that most people twice his age were still trying to figure out. Dean knew that he was a hunter and therefore destined to die somehow, no, someway terrible. He figured that if he went out it would be by helping someone important to him. Maybe he could die as a martyr to his family. Hell, he was willing to die for Bobby or Sammy. Bobby was their dad more so than John had ever been. Sam had always needed someone to look up to. Dean was there and that was his life. He knew who he was, what he was; he knew what he wanted. Most people would beg to differ by saying Dean was a lost little boy on the inside with daddy issues that were crippling. In all his years Dean never denied that. He knew he was lost on the inside and destined to fail. Fuck destiny. If Dean was going to die he was going to die the way he wanted to. The one time Dean successfully killed himself was worth it. Sammy was still alive and kicking and that was what mattered. He had one year with his brother before Dean had to die and in every way that was perfect. He always knew that he would die for his family. He was in this for the long run no matter how far he had to go to chase after his little brother. Nothing mattered to him as long as everyone around him was safe. That was his job.  
  
Most people quarrel with Death, but not Dean. Dean _wanted_ to die. Sure, hellhounds wouldn’t have been his first choice, but he had wanted to die and he got what he wanted. When Dean’s soul was reaped there was no hope for him. He knew where he was going, but he didn’t know what he would find. A demon once told Dean that there was a reason why they crawled out of the pit to get to here. There was a reason why any expression ending with a comparison to Hell was always bad. There was lore on Hell, lots of it. Before Dean died he made sure to read everything about the nasty place that humans or demons had written down. He wanted to know what he was up against, but he would never be ready for the amount of torture he was put through. Every day he was sliced up until he was all but a single cell. That was when the question was proposed ‘get off the rack and torture or stay on the rack and get tortured’. Year after year Dean would tell the demon, Alastair, to shove it up his, but after thirty years of being torn to shreds daily he gave in. His life was focused on saving people which was what made his death so much more Hell-ish than it needed to be. His death was focused on torturing poor souls- hearing them scream and beg for their lives. Dean wondered if most of them even knew that they were dead. Dean wondered about all of them. Through it all Dean actually ended up getting off from torture. It helped him get everything out. Once Dean realised he was enjoying torturing innocent people his guilt came flooding in. There was a reason why Hell was so hated.  
  
In Dean’s mind he had no idea what he thought was worse anymore. It was a dead tie between torturing souls and then waking up in a deserted field with dead grass in a perfect circle around him and a fresh hand-print scar on his shoulder. Once he realised he wasn’t in Hell anymore Dean didn’t know what to do. In Hell time is different. A month is about the equivalency of ten years. In his mind he had been gone for forty years and had spent ten of them torturing souls. Of course, right when he was brought back he had zero idea that an _angel_ had brought him back. He also had no idea that the poor creatures were almost as big of dicks as demons. Castiel had told Dean to rethink angels. They were warriors of God- warriors of a dead beat dad that no one besides four angels had seen. They were all so deeply corrupt, even Castiel. Over the course of a year or so Dean met more angels than he thought possible. Uriel, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, Castiel, Ana, Raphael, Balthazar, the list went on. Originally Dean had thought that Cas was just a dick-wad himself, but he fproved to be one of the only people that he trusted outside of his family. After all, Castiel rebelled for Dean. He killed his brothers. He pulled Dean from Hell. Everything was as perfect as they could get for a Winchester. Then again, there was the apocalypse.  
  
The fourth, and final, time Dean Winchester ever thought of suicide was when he was working with Sam and Cas to find Famine. War’s ring had been taken care of already even if they didn’t know what to do with it, they had it and that meant that War had no power at all. Innocent people had died and since there was no way to kill War the next best thing was to chop off his ring finger and take that baby home. Up next on their list of Horsemen to kill/take their power from was Famine. As soon as there were signs Dean and Sam jumped on that case like it was their bitch. The thing about Famine was that he didn’t want to deprive people of what they wanted as in the olden days. No, there was a reason he picked America, the Land of Plenty, to begin. He wasn’t taking away people’s food or drink; instead he was kicking up their needs or addictions. One couple was so sex-starved they got both from the deal. Found dead- eaten alive after coupling. Or, there was this one larger guy who loved Twinkies. He died by shoving every Twinkie he could down his gullet until he choked himself. That was Famine’s angle. He had no need to deprive people when it was so much easier to get them to indulge simply because they could.  
  
The case was hard to say the least. Sam ended up off the wagon and Cas would show up with a burger in hand. Everyone needed something or craved something to the point of dying for it but Dean. While everyone else was running around eating, fucking, drinking the night away Dean was sitting in a motel room trying to figure out what was going on. Right before Famine got his play-things taken away he told Dean something that would send him twelve steps back, “...you are already dead inside.” Before that Dean knew something about himself. Before Hell he knew he was a decent guy who may have had some issues with his family and everything else. He knew who he was. Dean knew that what he did with his life was dangerous and evil, but when he was brought back and given an angel as something a little bit more than ‘just a friend’ he had thought that maybe he could be just a twinge better. Maybe he would have been able to forget Hell. He wasn’t a torturer, he had no choice. Every sweet nothing that Sam had said made a wall in Dean’s head to block out the truth. Dean was doing so well too, but then Famine had to say it and he was done for as soon as the words left his chapped lips. Dean was dead inside. How long had he known? All of his life he had known that his resolve had been shattered. His life wasn’t even worth it anymore. Sam had gotten along just fine if you take away the addiction to demon blood. It was proof that Sam would have been able to go on. If Dean had never come back Sam would still be alive and hunting.  
  
After driving home Dean had nothing to say to anyone and why the hell would he? Famine had given his life a re-check. Why had God saved Dean? Oh, right, so that he would say ‘yes’ to Michael and kill his brother. Why was he here now? He was attempting to tear up destiny and make his own path. He needed to know that things could change- it was his hope. Castiel had told Dean that his problem was that he had no faith. Dean had no faith in humanity, in himself, in anyone. What Dean did have was a bad case of alcoholism and a gun.


	5. The Fourth Time - Angels are Soldiers

It’s surprisingly easy to admit to yourself that you want to kill yourself. The problem it imposes is more difficult to swallow. The first three times Dean thought of killing himself he was almost positive that the bad would outweigh the good, but eventually everything would return to as normal as it could have been. Sam was always Dean’s Number One when it came to anything. He was always there for Sammy, always. That was why the first three times were so difficult. He was putting his younger brother’s sanity on the line. He had sold his soul for his brother; he had been taken to Hell for his brother. After he had been brought back and Sam was as okay as he could have been Dean knew that he would be okay this time. He had already told Castiel to pay close attention to Sam and to come when he called. Bobby would always be there to make sure no demons threw Sam off the wagon of normality. Azazel was dead and that was what mattered. Demons would still come after Sam, but he was no longer held by the short and curlies by Azazel. He was free to do whatever he really wanted. Lilith was gone, angels were real, and Sam would be fine.  
  
After spending your whole life living for someone else you get twisted into an unhealthy co-dependency on that person. Dean needed for Sam to be okay and he would never do anything that he knew his brother would not be able to handle. When bad went to worse Dean made sure that Sam was still okay. Dean could be bloodied and on the edge of death, but he would still fight to make sure Sam never got hit. He needed his brother’s patience and reasonability. He relied on Sam to do research and make sure that Dean never got himself killed, but Dean was the older brother. Sam couldn’t stop him if his mind was set on something. As Dean exited out Bobby’s front door he only did so because he knew no one would be able to stop him. Sam was down in the panic room for detox from his run in with Famine and Bobby would either be too busy watching Sam or sleeping to realise that the older Winchester had gone missing. On the note of Castiel he had carved angel proofing into the boys’ ribs so that they would be invisible to angels. Cas would never find him.  
  
The night Dean chose was a little bit chilly. Enough so that he could see his breath in the air and enough that his leather jacket was clinging to his body warmth rather than the other way around. Dean chose a day that was near his birthday for reasons Sam would never understand. Dean was thirty and he was getting to be a bit too old for things that Sam could do without problem. Sam was 26- the exact same age Dean was when he went after his baby brother back at Stanford. When Dean was 26 he knew what he had to do in life. He was praying now that Sam had the same knowledge that he had. Sam wasn’t a kid anymore and he could hold his own without Dean’s hand to hold. In Dean’s mind he was holding Sammy back. Sam was a genius and far more clever than Dean could ever be. He knew his creepy crawlies better than Dean did. It helped that Sam was more book smart and knew his legends. Dean, on the other hand, knew movies. What help were movies in real life situations, though? All he ever did was show Sam the basics and watch as he changed what Dean had taught him into something so much better. Sam actually used his head, Dean used his brawn. A sharp shiver was sent down Dean’s spine as he saw his baby- maybe he should leave it for Sam.  
  
Dean spotted an older car off to his left. It was a black Mustang with an orange racing stripe going across the whole car. It looked beat up, but so did anything in Bobby’s car lot. It was a junk lot, a place for scraps and things of that sort. Why Dean figured he might have found a nicer car than the old Mustang was beyond him. With a short huff Dean pulled on the rusted handle finding that the car easily opened and allowed a man of Dean’s stature to just slide on in. The old baby gave a groan as Dean sat down, “Oh, shut up,” Dean made a face at the junk car and slid down to where the pedals were, “Now let’s see how you can run,” Dean pulled off the bottom of the dash and found those two wires he needed for a quick little spark, “Here we are,” Dean smiled to himself as the car came to life with a roar. Dean slid back into the leather seats and stepped on the gas. He had basically grown up in Bobby’s junk lot. He knew every which-way the place had to offer. Bobby had been the one that taught him to drive after all. Dean pulled out of the junk lot and found himself on the highway. Right next to him was his gun and the only thing he thought Sam might want to keep- the amulet.  
  
The story of the amulet would make Dean smile at times, but when he remembered why he had been the one to receive it he remembered that Dad was never there. _It was a Christmas years and years ago when Dean had gotten it. John was out on a hunting trip and had left the boys alone in an old motel room as usual. Sam had said that Bobby had given him something special to give to John for Christmas and Dean had gotten nothing for either members of his family. Like every Christmas Dad had said he would be home before too late. He always told his boys that he would be there for presents, but like every Christmas he was a no show. While Sam was sleeping Dean had broken into a particularly nice looking house down the road, snagged a few presents, a really sad looking tree, and a wreath. As he snuck back into the motel room he set everything up in a way that was sure to at least make Sam smile a bit. Right as Dean had finished setting down the presents Sam stirred. “Wake up, Sammy! Dad came by and left us presents!” Dean tried his best to smile and convince Sam that their dad hadn’t forgotten Christmas for the tenth year in a row. Sam’s eyes lit up and Dean sat down, cross legged, on the floor. “Really?” Sammy asked as he jumped out of bed and Dean nodded with childlike glee. Even if he had made the whole thing up seeing Sammy happy was what made him happy. “Here, open this one first,” Dean had tossed over a present to Sam who happily opened the wrapping paper to only find, “A Barbie?” Sam blinked and furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe Dad thinks you’re a girl,” Dean shrugged playfully and tossed him another- this time pom-poms. “Dad never showed, did he?” Sam asked and Dean watched his face drop. Dean shook his head and dropped his eyes, “Where did you get these, Dean?” “The nice house down the street,” Dean admitted and smiled weakly. Sam offered a just as weak smile, “Well, here. I got you something.” Sam handed Dean a wrapped gift and Dean shook his head, “Aren’t you giving that to Dad?” Sam shrugged, “He didn’t show up. I want you to have it.” Dean unwrapped the gift and smiled at the amulet inside. He slid it on over his head and smiled at Sam, “Thank you, Sammy. I love it.”_  
  
Dean shook his head, back in the now. Sam would definitely want that back. Dean swallowed and turned on the radio to some oldies station that he knew would calm him down enough so that he would remember to keep driving. He had decided that he would drive at least an hour off from Bobby’s so that they wouldn’t find the body too quickly. He wanted this to be as simple as it could have been. By the time Dean decided to quit driving he was in the city part of South Dakota near a theatre. He tried to not let the nostalgia eat him alive of times Bobby had taken Dean to the theatre to watch a movie rather than go shooting. Bobby was more of a dad to Dean than John had ever been. Maybe that was why it was so hard to do this in South Dakota knowing Bobby would be the one to find him. Dean didn’t really cover his tracks well that night. He wanted them to be able to find him. He didn’t want a missing persons ensued or for anyone to get overly upset. He wanted it to be simple- Dean was behind the theatre where he had seen his first ever actual movie dead, a suicide. He didn’t want any hunters to go after him, though he knew that at first Sam would love to think that something had done this to Dean rather than himself. Bobby would know at a glance.  
  
Dean slid out of the car and closed the squeaky door. His hands found the old leather pockets and he walked with his head down to behind the old movie theatre. The streets were empty and Dean knew he would be the only one walking the alley ways at this time. He made sure that he left at a time when all of the druggies would be going someplace else to get away from the cold. He knew hobos wouldn’t be lining the alley ways behind theatres, so he chose here. There was a brick wall then fence in front of Dean. The fence was a 10 footer with no barbed wire or anything. It was simply there to say that behind that fence was the trash dump. What a way to go, right? Dean stood, back against the brick wall and looked around. More brick, more fence, space to the left, wall to the right. It was at a spot that would be ideal for trashing bodies. Dean knew this would be one of the first spots they would check. Bobby knew this state inside and out. Sam knew Dean’s habits. Together they would end up here to find Dean, face down. It was morbid at best, but Dean knew why he was here. He would never be able to save everyone. He couldn’t even save his own brother. Why would he exist if he knew his existence would bring nothing but pain? Pain to Bobby, Sammy, Cas, every woman he slept with, everyone who ever came into his life. He would never be able to get out of this life and he would never be able to get close to them without the thought that they would be targeted to get to Dean.  
  
Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head back until his ashy brown hair hit brick wall. Dean opened his eyes slowly watching as the darkness only grew slightly lighter from the decor of feeble stars above and street lamps all around. There was a God, but he had been missing from Heaven for years. Who decided who went where then? Who held judgement against his soul, Dean wondered. Who was there to say that he belonged in Heaven or in Hell? According to many different variations of the Bible people who committed suicide ended up in Hell. Dean had already been; he already knew what it did to him. Purgatory? He wasn’t a monster, not yet. Why any angel would want him up in Heaven was beyond him. Hell seemed like his best option. He would be able to survive. With that, Dean pulled out his gun, “I’m sorry, Sammy, Bobby,” he shook his head and cocked the gun listening to every sound it made. Guns were invented for warfare against others and it was the perfect killing machine. Small enough to carry around and manoeuvre without care, but strong enough to kill with a single well-aimed shot, “I’m sorry, Dad,” he shook his head and snapped his eyes shut feeling the warm-wet of tears slide down his face, “I’m sorry, Cas,” he swallowed and brought the gun up to his head. With a shaky breath he took off the safety and began to calm himself down, “Well, here goes,” he grit his teeth and slid his finger across the metal down to the trigger. He found the piece that would trigger his death and began applying pressure. This was it.  
  
“Dean!” A familiar voice came along with a strong hand disarming Dean of the gun and the sound of metal hitting concrete. Before Dean noticed it, he was being pressed against the brick rather than leaning against it. Dean’s eyes opened and Castiel stared back at him. Dean felt his whole body begin to scramble. He hadn’t told Cas where he was- how did he find him? How did he know where Dean was? How did he even show up near Dean? Blue eyes pierced through green ones and Dean was legitimately scared at the emotions pouring out of them and how close to Dean his face was, “What were you doing, Dean?” Cas asked and slammed Dean against the wall again, his eyes drifted to the gun then back to Dean’s face, “Were you going to take your own life?”  
  
“C-Cas,” Dean’s voice was breathy and on the verge of breaking, but he could at least talk, “let me explain,” Dean swallowed the air around him and diverted his eyes from Castiel. He would never be able to explain with an angel right on him. He would never be able to admit to Cas why he was here. How could he? Castiel meant more to him than Dean would admit.  
  
“I rebelled for you. I killed my own brothers for you, and here you are about to commit suicide?!” Cas’s hands gripped Dean’s wrists and Dean winced. He didn’t understand, Cas had no idea what Dean was going through, “I was minding my own business when I hear you say my name and hear someone else praying nearby. They mentioned a man with a gun, Dean. Why do you think I’m here?” Dean blinked and looked down at his shoes, **“LOOK AT ME,”** Cas growled and Dean obliged with a quick turn of his head green eyes caught blue, “I saved you from Hell. I brought you back. Why would you ever think of returning, Dean? What would Sam do? What would Bobby do?” Castiel kept his eyes on Dean’s and Dean watched back as Cas’s eyes got softer and more meaningful. He actually looked sad, “What would I do, Dean? You are the reason I am here today. You taught me that destiny can be changed. What would I be doing if you weren’t here?” Dean’s face flushed and he opened his mouth to protest, but Cas cut him off, “No,” he held Dean’s wrists tighter to the point beyond bruising, “You don’t get to defend yourself.”  
  
Dean looked at Cas and his heart was being shattered by the angel’s words. He had made this angel rebel. He had doomed this angel to a death similar to that of his brothers. Castiel had saved Dean’s life. He had brought him back and Dean hadn’t ever thought that maybe Cas cared about him, “Cas,” Dean’s voice was deeper than usual and urgent so Cas let him speak, “I... Did you... For me? You left Heaven for me?” Dean was at a blank and with the feeling of Cas’s breath on him along with his hands holding Dean in place he had no idea what to think. An angel wanted him alive. Not just any angel, but Cas. Cas wanted Dean alive and he creeped on other people’s prayers to find him. The angel- the soldier of God- had rebelled against his own brothers just to save Dean. He looked up to Dean and all Dean could offer him was apologies and feelings of self-regret. It hit Dean like a brick in the balls- Castiel cared about Dean. His eyes softened and Cas let go of his wrists, “Cas, I’m sorry...”  
  
Castiel looked at Dean and with a quick movement leaned in even closer to Dean, “Don’t ever think of killing yourself again without asking for my permission.” Dean slowly leaned in, but Cas pressed two finger’s to the mortal’s head and brought him back to Bobby’s, “Go to your brother. He needs you,” Castiel instructed and Dean looked at Cas. He owed this angel more than anyone else.  
“Hey, Cas-“ but the angel had disappeared leaving Dean in Bobby’s house with no explanation of why he was gone for an hour and a half. Instinctively Dean headed down to the panic room to find Sam yelling his head off and Bobby sitting with a beer in hand and his hat at an odd angle. Bobby turned when he heard Dean and nodded at the boy.  
  
“Want a beer?” Bobby offered and handed Dean an ice-cold bottle. Dean leaned against an old shelf and looked at Bobby. He had no idea that Dean had almost killed himself. He was worried about Sam at the moment while Dean was about to off himself, “You know, Sam’s lucky he has you. He needs you. Hell, you boys live off of each other,” Bobby shook his head, “It’s not natural what you boys have, but as long as you’re both kicking you know you have me, too.”  
Dean nodded and sipped on the beer without a word. He had a father who looked after him- Bobby-, a younger brother who needed him –Sam-, and an angel who looked up to him –Castiel-. Why was he complaining? He had more than most hunters had. He had three reasons to live and that was more than he could ask for. Dean broke everything he had, but there were three people who no matter how broken they were needed Dean. Dean would never be normal or fixed, but he was needed and he would never be able to leave the people he needed. Not now, not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading my whole story! You're awesome :D I hope you enjoyed and any feedback would be much appreciated. I have no idea what I'm going to write next, but I will figure it out. (:

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this lengthy fic! It was my first one ever and it means the world to be that you actually read the whole thing! I really would love to know what you thought of it, so a comment would be much appreciated. Constructive criticism is a lovely thing for writers. 
> 
> \- Claudia Rose


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